


To Bring Home The Gold

by Yasuo_Karada



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Comfort Food, Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, So Married, Spoilers, sort of, the next episode isnT OUT YET
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasuo_Karada/pseuds/Yasuo_Karada
Summary: It's after the Grand Prix, and Yuuri could use some cheering up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was losing my writing mojo so I muscled my way through this one and am...actually kind of satisfied with it? Not so much with the ending but everything before it? Yuuri is so lucky to have Viktor as a husband. uwu
> 
> I hope I wrote them in-character well enough. orz
> 
> This is before episodes 11 and 12 are aired so the chances of this is canon divergent are pretty damn high, but imagine!

Yuuri had been in his room for three days.  
  
He fell into a deep depression upon returning home to Japan from Barcelona; they lost the Grand Prix, and for the second year in a row he walked away with nothing to show for how far he had come from the year prior. He didn't respond when someone came to knock on his door. He didn't come down to join his family for meals. Nobody ever saw him come out except to use the restroom and even then, those sightings were few and far between. Viktor was getting worried _sick_.

It was when he stopped by to check on his fiancé and happened to see Makkachin pawing at the door while whining softly that he decided that if Yuuri wasn't going to come out into the world, then he would have to force his way into Yuuri's.  
  
_Somehow_ , between broken English spoken with Yuuri's mother and Viktor's very ( _very_ ) limited Japanese, he had finally managed to put together something of...questionably decent quality. It wasn't bad for a first try, though! At least it was recognizable.  
  
He couldn't help but swell his chest with pride and huff through his nose with determination.  
  
With the warm bowl and a set of chopsticks held delicately in both hands, Viktor made his way up the steps towards Yuuri's room; Makkachin was still there waiting, curled up by the door. His eyebrows furrowed in concern at the sad state their dog was left in, and after a moment of steeling his nerves he gently knocked on the wooden door. “Yuuri.”  
  
He heard the muffled rustling of sheets – he was awake.  
  
“Please, Yuuri, we're all very worried about you. Come open the door?” he called in. No response.  
  
On impulse, he reached for the door handle to find it unlocked ( _seriously,_ nobody _checked to see if it was even locked?_ ) and he pried the door open just enough to peek through; the curtains were drawn and in the darkness he could make out a lump cocooned in the sheets on Yuuri's bed.  
  
Sighing softly, Viktor opened the door enough for him to slide through before he closed it behind him and maneuvered around the discarded clothing left on the floor as he made his way towards the bed. A better look around the room made him think it was practically untouched since they left for Spain last week. He found space at the foot of the bed for him to sit on, noting how Yuuri's figure shifted his legs under the bedding to make room before he sat down.

A hand reached out and gently placed itself on Yuuri's covered leg, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the calf through the sheets in an attempt to comfort him as he eased his way into Yuuri's bubble. “ _Lyubov moya_.”  
  
Yuuri sniffled in response, before he stirred and poked his head out from the top of the sheets to squint at the bowl in Victor's other hand; even in the darkness, he could tell Yuuri was crying from how rough his voice was when he said, “What _is_ that?”  
  
“It's not good to starve yourself, Yuuri. You may not feel like it now but you really should try to eat something,” Viktor softly chided as he extended his arm to offer the bowl. Yuuri forced himself to sit up and rubbed his eyes for a moment before blinking repeatedly in an attempt to ward off the grogginess and accepted Viktor's offering. Finally, Viktor was able to get a good look at him: heavy, dark bags below the eyes, hair completely disheveled, still in the same pajamas as he was the day they returned, nd he would be able to see the redness at the tip of his nose if he looked hard enough.  
  
Yuuri looked into the bowl and squinted again as if to examine its contents. His eyes widened once he could make out what it was supposed to be.  
  
“...Pork cutlet...?”  
  
“It's your favorite meal, is it not?” Viktor flashed a warm smile at him as he leaned back, his palm pressed against the mattress behind him to support his frame.  
  
Yuuri's hands started shaking ever so slightly, and his gaze slid from the bowl to Viktor. “But...I didn't win...”  
  
His lover shrugged. “That hasn't stopped you before. What's important now is that you get some food in you. Eating out of sadness isn't healthy, but neither is depriving yourself of what your body needs.”  
  
He couldn't help but chuckle once at Yuuri's pout shot in his direction and he watched as his fianc é turned his attention back down to the food. Even after being handed the chopsticks, though, Yuuri couldn't bring himself to even try to eat. He was about to hand it right back to Viktor when the tips of his fingers pressed lightly against the edge of the bowl to stop it.  
  
“Eat.” The dish was guided back closer to Yuuri. “Please.”

“I...--”  
  
“Yuuri.” Viktor's hand returned to his leg and he massaged his palm against the thigh slowly.  
  
Neither one of them moved for what seemed like an eternity. It was ultimately Viktor who broke the silence between them with a sigh.

“I know you are disappointed about the Grand Prix.” Yuuri swallowed some spit out of nerves before Viktor continued, “but for what it's worth, Yuuri, I think you did a wonderful job. I have never, in all my twenty years of skating, seen anyone move on the ice as beautifully as you did. You've come a long way from where you were last year, and that's something to be _quite_ proud of.”  
  
Yuuri couldn't help but scoff as a knee-jerk reaction, and Viktor couldn't help but grin right back.  
  
“Besides.” He reached out to grab Yuuri's right hand. Yuuri let him cradle it in his own and pull it back towards him, his own right hand rising up to the same level; their rings glistened against what little light managed to peek through the curtains. “You can't really say you didn't bring home the gold, now can you?”  
  
God... _damn_ that stupid, lopsided grin of his, making Yuuri crack out into a chuckle of his own. “Heh...stupid.”  
  
“Only for you, _lyubov moya_.” Viktor raised Yuuri's hand up to his lips and placed a loving kiss upon his ring finger.  
  
“That may be up for debate.”  
  
“Ah, _there's_ the Yuuri I know and love!” Viktor released his hand, and he withdrew it back to hold the bowl with both hands again. “Do you feel any better now?”  
  
Yuuri sniffled again and looked up towards his lover. “A little...”  
  
“Good.” Viktor shifted closer towards him. “At least this means I've gotten better about cheering you up?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” At last – a genuine smile. Viktor could feel his heart flutter at the sight; Yuuri's happiness was one he always welcomed.  
  
As if it was timed perfectly, Yuuri's stomach let out a low gurgle. His blush practically illuminated the room, he was so red from embarrassment he could _die_. “I-I guess I should eat then, huh?”  
  
“Please do!” His lover's face brightened up in excitement and anticipation. “It was my first time making a pork cutlet bowl. _Mama_ helped walk me through it and I think some things may have been lost in translation, but I thought it was a good attempt and I hope you think so, too!”  
  
Ah, so Viktor made this for him.  
  
That would explain why the pork was practically drowning in sauce and the vegetables looked vaguely undercooked, though he prayed that was from the poor lighting and his vision being subpar without his glasses.  
  
Chopsticks in hand, he gave Viktor a grateful grin and a soft, “Thank you for the meal,” before grabbing a nice, thick piece of pork and digging in.  
  
Definitely _way_ too much sauce, and the pork was a bit tough. The vegetables _were_ undercooked and over-salted, just as he thought. Technically speaking, it was a mediocre dish, and that was putting it _generously_.  
  
...But past the salt and sauce and bitterness of raw vegetables, he could taste the love and concern Viktor poured into making this dish.  
  
Yuuri _didn't_ win the Grand Prix; he didn't even place on the podium. All he could do was sulk alone in his room and pray for the earth to swallow him whole as he despaired over yet another failed season, _god_ if only he had managed to land that quad toe flip at the end. He let himself down. He let Viktor down. He let all of his friends, family, everyone down. _Again_.  
  
And yet here was his stupid, wonderful husband-to-be, probably so concerned out of his wits his hair would have gone gray if it weren't already, just on the other side of that door, silently supporting him despite his failures and missteps and falls.  
  
_You're a winner to me._  
  
That's what he felt Viktor wanted to say in this dish that he slaved over. Just the thought of it brought tears to his eyes, and he had to pause to wipe them away.  
  
“A-Ah! I didn't say something to make you cry again, did I?!” Viktor audibly panicked, his smile immediately dropping. Hearing him freak out made Yuuri picture him panicking in the kitchen while making this food, setting everything on fire and getting sauce and seasonings everywhere, and he couldn't help but laugh with the tears.  
  
He set the bowl and chopsticks down onto the floor beside the bed before he crawled over to a confused Viktor and climbed into his lap, his arms circling around his shoulders as he buried his face into his neck. Viktor could only tense up for a moment, as though he were afraid that if he touched Yuuri even slightly the man would shatter like glass.  
  
Yuuri pulled his face away from his neck and leaned up to press his lips against Viktor's cheek. When he moved back to look him in the eye, he wore the most relieved grin either of them could have ever hoped to muster, tears streaming down his face all the while. Viktor cupped his cheeks in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears as they came pouring down. “Y-Yuuri?”  
  
“That was the best pork cutlet bowl I've ever had. Thank you.” Yuuri sniffled once. “Thank you, Vitya.”

**Author's Note:**

> The pork cutlet bowl ended up giving him food poisoning, though.
> 
> Lyubov Moya = My Love
> 
> I know I use "fiancé" and "lover" a lot, but I feel that's how they would refer to each other canonically? idk it's not my best but also not my worst SO
> 
> *shrugs off into the sunset*


End file.
